


A Strange Week

by dS_Tiff



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dS_Tiff/pseuds/dS_Tiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser and RayK are having a very strange week - nothing unusual there then!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strange Week

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in response to a challenge that was set on another website by my good friend Vic32. The challenge was to write a story to include the following:
> 
> 1\. At least one not work or country based cliché
> 
> 2\. A meal cooked for Ma Vecchio by RayK
> 
> 3\. Fraser tells a joke in the squad room
> 
> 4\. And RayV is friends with RayK
> 
> This is set some time during Season 4 of 'due South'. I hope you enjoy it!

“Knock knock,” said Constable Benton Fraser, standing beside the desk of his unofficial partner at the 27th Precinct with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, using the stance he usually reserved for sentry duty outside the Canadian Consulate.

“Fraser!” exclaimed Ray as he looked up from the file that he was trying and failing to make sense of. “What are you doing?”

“I'm trying to lift your mood using humour,” replied Fraser, matter of factly. Ray sat in silence. “You are meant to say 'Who's there' Ray,” prompted Fraser.

“Who's there Ray,” replied Ray sarcastically, he really wasn't in the mood for jokes, especially not from his usually straight laced partner. Fraser sighed and bowed his head slightly. “Sorry buddy,” said Ray, looking a little sheepishly at his friend, “it's just that after spendin' the last two hours in the morgue with you and Mort behavin' like kids in a candy store, the last thing I need is you goin' all Dan Aykroyd on me.” Fraser lifted his head slightly and looked at Ray. “You have no idea who Dan Aykroyd is do ya?” continued Ray.

“Of course I do,” replied Fraser, “he's Canadian.”

“I did not know that,” said Ray in mild surprise.

“Kids in a candy store?” repeated Fraser, quizzically, sitting down in the spare chair next to Ray's desk.

“C'mon, you know what I mean.” Ray sat back in his own chair. Fraser shook his head. “I mean Mort asks ya if ya wanna stay and help him cut open the dead guy and ya nearly explode with excitement!”

Fraser look suddenly worried. “I hope my behaviour didn't appear overly exuberant,” he said, “I hope I showed the victim the appropriate amount of respect.”

Ray looked at him with a tiny grin. “Don't worry Fraser,” he said, “you were real respectful. At least I guess ya were,” he paused before adding, “um, I mean, I had my back to ya.”

“Ray I'm sorry if you felt uncomfortable earlier in the morgue,” Fraser said, “we have discussed this before. You didn't have to stay.” Ray shrugged and nodded. “However Mort and I were able to identify the cause of death, time of death and the probable murder weapon, consequently narrowing down your list of suspects quite significantly.”

“Yeah I know,” agreed Ray, “left handed golfers.” Fraser nodded. “I know ya can learn a lot from an autopsy, I know that,” Ray continued, “but I don't have to, y'know, enjoy it. Dead people freak me out, I mean they completely freak me out.”

Fraser looked over his shoulder, as if he was expecting to see someone standing there, someone who could take offence at his friend's last comment, but he breathed a small sigh of relief as he realised that the only other people in the bullpen at that moment were still one hundred per cent alive. “I don't enjoy it either,” he said, feeling it important that he clarify that point to his friend, “I do however find it quite fascinating. As I said before, you didn't have to stay.” Fraser slowly drew his lower lip in between his teeth and bit down as he studied his friend for a moment. He could tell that Ray was particularly disturbed this time and he suddenly felt bad for not realising it earlier and insisting that Ray leave the morgue while he and Mort examined the body. “Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, knock knock.”

“Don't start all that again Fraser!”

“Sorry Ray, how about this one then, this is a particular favourite among the Inuit,” Fraser cleared his throat, as if he were about to make an important speech, before continuing, “A horse walked into a bar...” Ray's mouth slowly began to drop open. Fraser continued, “...and the barman said 'Why the long face?'” Ray was still silent. “It's a pun Ray, a horse has a long...” but Fraser had to stop talking as he began to laugh, almost under his breath at first, then slowly the laughter built until he couldn't contain it any more. He brought his hand to his face and attempted to control it, but failed dismally and he began laughing out loud. A big, deep laugh that Ray was sure he'd never heard from his friend before. Even Diefenbaker was startled.

“Fraser that's one of the oldest jokes in the book,” Ray said, looking at Fraser in disbelief as his buddy wiped away a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye, “Fraser, it's not that funny,” even Ray was smiling now, “it's not funny at all!”

Fraser cleared his throat and tried to speak, but the laughter had completely taken control now. “Why,” he spluttered, “why are you laughing then?”

Ray shook his head and he grinned as he too began to laugh. He tried to look away from his partner, but that didn't help and in the end the two friends were laughing and spluttering as if they'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Thanks Fraser,” Ray just about managed to say. He felt a lot better now.

Lieutenant Welsh came out of his office with a face like thunder. “Gentlemen, this is a police department, not a comedy club,” he said, putting one hand on Ray's desk and leaning over for emphasis.

Fraser immediately stopped laughing. “Sorry sir,” he apologised, his face completely serious again, “it was entirely my fault.”

Welsh looked from Fraser to Ray, who was still wiping his eyes and trying to keep a straight face. He looked back to Fraser and shook his head . “Why doesn't that surprise me Constable?” Welsh stood up and turned to head back towards his office, but he was stopped in his tracks by a scream. He spun round to see Francesca Vecchio on her feet, staring at the phone on her desk with her hands clasped to the sides of her face. She screamed again. It was loud enough to bring Dief from out of his hiding place under Ray's desk.

Fraser leapt to his feet and crossed to Francesca's desk. “What is it, what's wrong?” he asked her.

She looked at him, a terrified look in her eyes. “That was Ma on the phone,” she said, her voice shaky, “she said our house is being robbed, right now, there's a burglar in our house! She didn't even recognise my voice, if anything happens to her....Fraser!”

“Francesca, look at me,” began Fraser in a firm, but gentle voice, “did you process and log the call correctly.”

Francesca nodded furiously. “Yes, yes, there's a squad car on it's way right now.”

“Excellent,” Fraser smiled at her, “don't worry, Ray and I will head over there too. I'm sure your Mother will be fine.”

“Yeah, c'mon,” yelled Ray, who was already at the door with his jacket on, “Frannie, I'll call ya, OK?”

Francesca nodded again. Lieutenant Welsh took her squarely by the shoulders. “Miss Vecchio, why don't you wait in my office.”

As he led her past Jack Huey's desk, Huey got to his feet, “I'll get you some coffee,” said the detective.

xXx

A little less than an hour later, Mrs Vecchio was sitting in her favourite chair in her house. She looked up as Fraser entered the room carrying a cup of tea. “Drink this Mrs Vecchio,” he said, placing the cup into her trembling hand, “it will calm your nerves.”

“Oh Benton, thank you, I'm fine,” she said smiling up at him, “I'm so sorry to have caused all this bother, I feel so silly.”

Fraser got down on one knee beside the chair. “There is no need to apologise,” he said, patting her on the arm, “you were concerned for your own personal safety, you did the right thing in calling the police. However, I think we can be certain that the noise you heard in this case was the kitchen window rattling in the wind.”

“I'm sorry,” said Mrs Vecchio again, “but when I heard that noise I was convinced that someone had broken into the house. I get so nervous when Francesca is working late. I hate being alone here in the dark. I do wish Raymondo could come home.”

“Mrs Vecchio, your son's current undercover assignment is helping to save countless lives and put numerous violent criminals behind bars,” Fraser said earnestly, “as difficult as it is to put aside our own feelings, we must try to remember that.”

Mrs Vecchio nodded. “You are such a good friend to my Raymondo.”

Just then Ray walked into the room. “OK, Mrs V, I managed to stop the window rattling with some, er, some putty I found in the garage.”

“Oh thank you, thank you,” smiled Mrs Vecchio.

“I'll come back tomorrow and fix it for ya properly,” continued Ray, “I think ya got everythin' I need in the, er, in the garage.”

“That would be so kind of you,” said Mrs Vecchio, “and then you must stay for dinner,” she continued, “you too Benton,” she looked at the Mountie, “and Ray, you must invite your parents too,” she finished. Ray felt the blood drain from his face. He enjoyed eating at the Vecchio's, Mrs Vecchio was a fantastic cook, but the thought of sharing an evening with her and his parents, together, in the same room, that thought filled Ray with dread.

“That would be lovely, thank you kindly Mrs Vecchio,” beamed Fraser, glancing at Ray, urging him to be polite.

“Yeah, um, I'll ask 'em,” mumbled Ray.

“Now if you're sure you're alright, Ray and I will be going.” Fraser said as he got to his feet.

“When I called Frannie she said she was comin' home,” added Ray. Mrs Vecchio smiled at that news.

“We'll see you tomorrow,” Fraser said as he headed towards the door. Ray managed a smile that looked more like a scowl and followed his partner out of the house.

xXx

The next evening, Ray and Fraser had just finished repairing Mrs Vecchio's kitchen window, when Francesca wandered out and stopped, leaning on the doorway with her arms folded. “I love to see a man using power tools,” she said. Fraser immediately placed the electric drill he was holding down on the table. Ray stifled a giggle.

“Go and tell Mrs V we're just about finished here,” Ray said to her, trying to save his partner from further embarrassment.

“Ray, your parents are so nice,” continued Francesca, showing no signs of leaving the room, “are you quite sure you weren't switched with another baby at birth?”

“Ha-dee ha ha” said Ray, scowling at her.

Francesca smiled and turned to leave, but she spun her head around to add, “your ma has brought baby photos.” Francesca walked back to join the rest of their guests.

Ray looked at Fraser. “Do you think anyone would notice if we climbed outta this window?” he said. Fraser nodded. Ray was still desperately trying to think of a way to get out of the rest of this evening. “Maybe if I said there was an emergency, y'know, police stuff, I could say it was a, er, a Canadian liaison-ing thing, then y'could get outta here too?”

Fraser shook his head and laughed. “That would be lying Ray. Besides, I'm quite looking forward to seeing your baby photos.” Ray sneered at him.

xXx

After a delicious dinner, cooked to perfection as always by Francesca's mother, the assembled dinner guests were gathered in the other room, pouring over a pile of photograph albums that Mrs Vecchio had produced, prompted by Mrs Kowalski's photographs of a young Ray. Ray was enjoying looking at embarrassing photos of Francesca, he would certainly use some of them in the future at suitable moments at work and he was grateful to Mrs Vecchio for the extra ammunition. Mrs Vecchio was proudly showing pictures of her son too. Pictures of the day Ray Vecchio graduated from the Police Academy, his high school graduation, right back to his early years. Suddenly Ray leapt out of his chair. “That's me!” he exclaimed.

“No Ray,” replied Fraser, slightly confused. “That is a picture of the detective formerly known as Ray Vecchio. You are the detective currently known as....” but Ray interrupted him.

“I know who I am Fraser!” he said, “but I'm in that picture too. Look, right there, to the left of that tall kid.” Ray pointed to a rather skinny blonde haired little boy in a photograph of a group of children playing happily.

Fraser and Mrs Kowalski peered closely at the picture. “Yes, that's you with your Kindergarten class,” agreed Ray's mother.

Fraser nodded. “You were at Kindergarten with Ray Vecchio?” he said to Ray.

Ray looked puzzled, he looked at the photograph again. “Which one's Vecchio?” he enquired. Mrs Vecchio looked at the photo for a moment before she located her son and pointed to a little boy who was playing with a basketball. “Him?” Ray was amazed, “no way! We played together all the time!” He looked at Fraser, he was having trouble making sense of things. Suddenly Ray made a strange noise and slapped himself on the forehead three times.

“Ray? Are you OK?” enquired Fraser. “Have you had an epiphany?”

“Er, not that I noticed,” replied Ray, “but I have just realised somethin', the strangest, er, coincidence I mean. Me and Vecchio, we were buddies, friends at Kindergarten!”

“That's amazing,” agreed Francesca, “but didn't you recognise him? I mean I know you and my brother never actually met, I mean recently, before he went undercover, but you've seen his picture and surely you'd recognise the name?”

Ray shook his head. “He had hair when he was five years old,” he replied. Francesca nodded, she couldn't argue with him on that. “Anyway,” he continued, “he was Raymondo back then, never Ray and that's just it, I guess I could never pronounce his name properly. I always thought he was Fetcho, Raymondo Fetcho! I just never made the connection.” Everyone laughed at that.

“I knew you two would be great friends,” smiled Fraser, “although I assumed that it would be in the future.”

A short while later, Mr and Mrs Kowalski had to leave. “Thank you so much for dinner,” said Mrs Kowalski, “you must come to us for a meal, we'd love to have you. Maybe one day next week?”

Mrs Vecchio smiled. “That would be lovely,” she said. “Tonight has been wonderful, just like having all of my family home again.” She kissed Ray's parents exuberantly on each cheek, embarrassing Mr Kowalski, much to Ray's amusement and he also gave his mother a kiss before waving them off.

“I'm afraid I need to go too Mrs Vecchio,” said Fraser, “but I agree, we really should do this again.” Fraser also enjoyed the feeling of being part of a family and the Vecchio's had always been so welcoming to him. He was also pleased that Ray was getting on so well with his parents these days.

After more kissing and hugging than Fraser usually felt comfortable with, Ray was driving him back to the Consulate. They were still slightly bemused after looking at all the old photographs.

“I cannot believe I'm friends with Vecchio” said Ray, “I mean, I was, it was a long time ago.”

Fraser agreed. “There is an old Inuit saying,” he began. Ray braced himself for something rambling and incomprehensible. “It's a small world,” finished Fraser. Ray looked at him, but was relieved to see a tiny smirk forming on his partner's face. He was really struggling to get used to Fraser's jokes. Fraser pretended he hadn't noticed Ray looking and spoke again, “Thank you for driving me home Ray, I have to continue with the preparations for the banquet next week. Inspector Thatcher is expecting the seating plan on her desk in the morning.” Ray shook his head. Still under her thumb, he thought to himself.

xXx

Fraser spent most of the next week working closely with Inspector Thatcher to prepare for the banquet. A task that he found most enjoyable, in more ways than one. The guest list consisted mainly of people with important business and trade connections and the Inspector was determined that it would run smoothly. For that reason, she had decided that Constable Turnbull was in need of a week off and had sent him home to Canada to spend time with his family. While Fraser could completely see why his superior officer had made that decision, it had left him with an awful lot of work to do and very little time to do anything else, including helping Ray with the ongoing homicide investigation.

On Wednesday, he was able to find a spare hour to go with Ray to the Golf Club to interview some of the employees who were on duty on the night of the murder. Unfortunately, it had transpired that over that particular weekend, the Golf Club had been hosting a left handed golfers convention, so their list of suspects was, perhaps, not quite as small as they had initially hoped.

Ray's parents had invited Mrs Vecchio and Francesca for dinner that Friday evening. Ray of course was expected to go too and indeed Fraser had been invited, but unfortunately Friday was the night of the banquet, so he had regrettably had to decline. Ray tried to make his parents rearrange the whole evening, as he really didn't think he could cope with those particular people for company without his friend there for moral support, but Fraser had insisted that they go ahead without him.

On Thursday evening, Fraser was waiting for Ray at his desk at the 27th. They had arranged to go over the details of the homicide investigation again over a pizza. Francesca was beginning to get worried. “He should have been back by now Frase,” she said, “I'll try his cell phone again,” but before she could dial the number the phone on Ray's desk rang.

Fraser picked it up. “Chicago Police Department, Detective Ray Vecchio's desk, Constable Benton...” but before he could finish, the voice at the other end of the line interrupted him.

“It's me Fraser,” it was Ray. “I'm at the hospital.”

“Hospital! Ray, are you alright?” Fraser said anxiously. Francesca leaned over, partly to hear what Ray was saying and partly just to get closer to Fraser.

“Yeah, I'm fine buddy,” replied Ray, “my Dad fell down some steps. He's OK but he's twisted his knee up pretty bad. His foot's swollen up like a balloon too. They're gonna do a scan or somethin' so it looks like I'm gonna be here for a while.”

“Oh dear, I'm very sorry to hear that Ray. An injury like that can be very painful. Please pass on my best wishes to you father.” Fraser glanced at Francesca who seemed relieved that Ray was unhurt.

“OK, thanks Fraser,” replied Ray, “I'll call ya tomorrow. We can talk about the case then.” Ray hung up the phone.

“I hope Mr Kowalski's gonna be OK,” said Francesca, desperately trying to force out a tear, in the hope of some consolation from Fraser. She was genuinely concerned for Ray's Dad, but she was never one to waste an opportunity to use her emotions to elicit some sort of affection from the Mountie.

Fraser, of course, did not fall for it. “I'm sure he'll be fine” he replied, “I'd better get back to the Consulate,” and he left the Precinct. Francesca scowled at him as he left. What was wrong with this man, she thought to herself, I'm practically throwing myself at him and I may as well be invisible.

xXx

Early on Friday morning, Fraser was ironing his best dress shirt and a beautiful sky blue outfit that Inspector Thatcher had chosen for the occasion. Usually, Fraser felt much more comfortable in his dress uniform at such events and he looked forward to those rare occasions when he could wear the formal belt and gloves, however the Inspector had insisted that this event was black tie and cocktail dresses. Just then the telephone on his desk rang. It's rather early for anyone to be calling the Consulate, though Fraser as he picked up the receiver. “Good morning,” he began, “you have reached the Canadian Consulate, Constable Benton Fraser, Deputy Liaison Officer speaking, how may I be of assistance?” He heard a grunt at other end of the line. “Ray?” he said, “are you alright?”

In Ray's apartment, Ray was far from being alright, “No,” he snapped down the phone. “No, I am not alright.” He rubbed his fingers through his morning hair vigorously.

Fraser ran a knuckle across his eyebrow. Ray was always grumpy first thing in the morning, but he could tell that this morning something in particular was very wrong. “What is it Ray?”

“Mum called from the hospital, they want to keep Dad in for another night,” replied Ray.

“It's probably for the best Ray,” replied Fraser, “you wouldn't want then to send him home too soon. It is important that the injury isn't aggravated further.”

“I know that buddy,” sighed Ray, “but it's Friday already!”

“Yes Ray,” replied Fraser, not quite sure of the implication, “I know. I have the banquet this evening.”

“Fraser,” said Ray, agitated that his friend hadn't understood the seriousness of the situation, “it's Friday, Mrs V is supposed to be going for dinner with my folks.”

“Of course,” replied Fraser, “that is unfortunate. It will have to be rearranged for another day after all. Hopefully I will be able to make the new date.”

“Now y'see Fraser, that would be a sensible idea, right?” Ray replied, “I mean you'd think, er, that that would be what my Mum would do, but no, no, she calls me at some stupid hour of the mornin' and tells me that instead, she's already told Mrs V that her and Frannie can come to my place for dinner!”

“Oh dear,” was all Fraser could manage. The only appliance in Ray's kitchen that was used regularly was the coffee machine. He rarely cooked anything for himself, let alone hosted a dinner party.

“Is there no way y'can get out of this banquet thing tonight buddy?” Ray pleaded.

“I'm so sorry Ray, but I'm afraid it is my duty to attend.”

Ray knew he was going to say that. “OK Fraser,” he said. “I gotta go, I guess I need to buy some food. What shall I cook?”

“Just keep it simple Ray,” advised Fraser, “Mrs Vecchio will appreciate the effort you've gone to, there's no need to try to impress her with something overly complicated.”

Ray thought for a moment. “I think I got a recipe book here somewhere,” he began, “I'll go find it. Then I guess I'd better do some cleanin' up and stuff. Good, er, good luck with the banquet.” Ray sighed as he put the phone down. He surveyed his messy apartment and shook his head. Now where do I keep the vacuum cleaner, he thought to himself.

Fraser returned to the ironing. Just then Inspector Meg Thatcher came into the room carrying another dress on a hanger. “What about this one Fraser?” she asked, holding the pink dress in the air. Fraser looked at her and scratched his left ear, he couldn't fail to hide his disappointment. He liked the blue one and besides he'd just spent quite some time ironing it to perfection.

“Well, Sir, I must say that although that dress is made of a particularly fine fabric, my personal preference would be for this one.” He pointed to the outfit he had so carefully hung over the back of his closet door. Meg looked at the pink dress in her hand and threw it dismissively over the back of a chair.

“I'm sorry Fraser,” she said, “I didn't expect you to iron it for me. I haven't expected you to do those sorts of things for me since, well, since...”

“Since Constable Turnbull began working here?” interrupted Fraser.

“Yes Fraser,” replied Meg, looking uncomfortably at the floor. That wasn't exactly what she had been referring to. She was thinking about that train again, about that kiss, the one they weren't supposed to be mentioning ever again, but always seemed to mention anyway. She silently thanked Fraser for deftly avoiding the subject.

“Thank you. For ironing my dress, I mean.” She looked back at Fraser, who had taken the blue dress from the door and was holding it out for her. As she reached out to take it from him, her fingers brushed briefly against the back of his hand. She drew a tiny breath and their eyes met.

“Why don't you try it on,” he suggested, blushing suddenly as he realised what he'd just said. He cleared his throat and ran the index finger of his other hand around his collar, hoping that pulling it away from his neck would somehow help with the tightening he felt in his throat. He released his grip on the dress and Inspector Thatcher took it and nodded. “If you wish, I could offer my opinion,” continued Fraser, deciding that he may as well say it, after all he had embarrassed himself enough already.

Fortunately for him, Meg responded with a small smile. “Yes Fraser, that would be of great help. I am having some trouble deciding.” She had become rather agitated about the arrangements for the banquet and had allowed herself to lose focus. It was so important to her superiors that the evening went well. She turned and left the room. As soon as she was out of sight, Fraser almost staggered backwards. He managed to compose himself and his tongue licked furiously at his suddenly very dry lips. He busied himself putting away the iron. When Inspector Thatcher returned, it was Fraser's turn to take a sudden sharp breath. “Well, what do you think?” she prompted.

Fraser's mind worked furiously to compose his reply. In the end, all he could manage to say was, “yes.”

“Yes what, Fraser?” replied Meg, somewhat annoyed that his response wasn't exactly what she'd imagined he'd say. Actually she was quite glad that it wasn't what she'd imagined he'd say as that would have proved very embarrassing all round.

“I'm sorry Sir,” said Fraser, uncomfortably. This wasn't going at all well. “What I meant to say was that the, um, the colour suits you.”

“Thank you Fraser.”

“Also the lines accentuate your, er, your...” Fraser wished he hadn't started that sentence, “your attributes, Sir.” Fraser shuddered. Why he'd picked that word, he didn't know. Fraser fumbled with a couple of spare hangers. He dropped one on the floor and as he bent to pick it up, he accidentally turned on the radio with his elbow. He stood bolt upright as the strains of the Chris de Burgh song Lady in Red drifted out of the speakers. He stared wide eyed at his superior officer, not quite sure whether to turn the radio off again straight away, or pretend he hadn't noticed the song. “I'll, um, I'll just, um...” he was extremely flustered and in the end decided to turn it off.

“My attributes?” Inspector Thatcher wasn't even paying any attention to the radio as she was still trying to process Fraser's last comment.

“Yes Sir,” said Fraser, tugging at his collar again, “I apologise if I'm not making myself very clear. Would you like me to continue?”

Meg stared at him again. She could listen to his voice all day, the sound was so comforting. She had been worrying so much over the last few days about the success of the banquet this evening and she'd had very little sleep. “Please continue, Constable,” she said, mentally kicking herself immediately for making it sound like a command. She turned away so as not to catch his eye again.

“Tonight is going to be a huge success, everything will be fine,” Fraser said reassuringly. Meg looked back at him suddenly. He was so perceptive, it often caught her off guard. “If it helps at all, you look beautiful...in that dress.” Fraser had realised that Inspector Thatcher's confidence could do with a huge boost at that moment and he had decided not to let her down. “The colour makes your eyes shine like the stars,” he was really going for it now, “and the fabric is delightful. When you walked into the room you looked as if you were floating across the floor.” Fraser wasn't sure if his comments had been appropriate, he wasn't used to saying things like that. The one about her eyes in particular was a bit of a cliché he acknowledged to himself. Oh well, I've said it now, he thought.

Meg Thatcher stood in stunned silence for a moment. He had never heard Fraser speak like that before. This could go one of two ways, she thought and with her head full of memories from that train she desperately tried to decide what to do next. In the end, the decision was taken away from her by a loud knocking at the door. “I'll see who that is,” said Fraser, breathing an enormous sigh of relief as he virtually ran past her out of the room to let the caterers in.

“I'll wear this one then,” she said wistfully to any empty room.

xXx

Later that evening, the guests had started arriving at the Consulate and Fraser was desperately trying to follow Inspector Thatcher's final instruction to him as she had adjusted his bow tie for the third time - “No Inuit stories, Fraser.” He wasn't sure what her objections were to Inuit stories, but he was following the order, even though it left him rather bereft of conversation. He wasn't very good at small talk. Inspector Thatcher was wearing the blue dress and was playing the perfect host and ensuring that all the right people were talking to each other. It's going well so far, she thought.

Just then the telephone rang. Fraser picked it up. “Good evening, you have reached the...” but he was interrupted by a barrage of bad language from Ray on the other end of the phone. “Ray please! There is no need for language like that.”

“Yes Fraser, yes there is,” Ray shouted down the phone, “Mrs V is on her way and I can't get the sauce to thicken!”

“You made sauce?” Fraser was quite impressed, “what kind of sauce is it?”

“I dunno, stop asking me stupid questions Fraser!” Ray was completely out of his depth and when his Dad was out of hospital, he was really going to have to have words with his Mum. Why she thought he'd be able to do this Ray really didn't have a clue. He should have just cancelled the dinner, he thought, but at the time he hadn't wanted to let his Mum or Mrs Vecchio down. How do I get myself into these stupid situations, he thought. “I got the recipe outta this book,” he continued, “I put everything in, tomatoes, onions, all of it.”

“Flour Ray, it may need more flour, but be careful as it may cause the sauce to go lumpy.”

“Er, OK buddy,” said Ray, opening his cupboards trying to remember where he put the flour. “Found it,” he said.

“Now stir some in, just a little,” instructed Fraser over the phone.

Ray held his cell phone between his shoulder and his ear as he fumbled around with his brand new cooking utensils. “Fraser, it's working!” he exclaimed, as the sauce did indeed start to thicken. “Thanks, I gotta go, Mrs V's gonna be here any minute.”

“Enjoy your evening Ray,” said Fraser as he replaced the receiver.

Inspector Thatcher called out to him. “Dinner is served Fraser,” she said.

xXx

At Ray's apartment, Mrs Vecchio and Francesca were being very polite. They'd both managed to eat the food that Ray had cooked for them, indeed it was actually surprisingly good and Mrs Vecchio insisted on doing the washing up. Francesca meanwhile was wandering round Ray's apartment looking at all of his things, which was really annoying Ray. He was just about to say something to her, when there was a knock at the door. “I'll get it Ray!” Francesca called out. That annoyed Ray even more, she was really making herself at home, he thought angrily. He was quite surprised to see Fraser standing at the door, still wearing his tuxedo and bow tie, with Diefenbaker at his heels.

Francesca was even more surprised. “Hello Frase,” she smiled, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into Ray's apartment. “You look great.” Fraser cleared his throat and tried to avoid making eye contact with her.

“What are ya doin' here?” asked Ray, “what happened to the, er, the banquet?”

“Inspector Thatcher has allowed me to leave early,” Fraser explained. “I tried telephoning you, but there was no reply.”

“I turned it off,” said Ray, “y'know, I got guests.”

Mrs Vecchio smiled at him. “You are such a polite young man,” she said. Francesca spluttered a comment under her breath.

“That's why I came straight over,” continued Fraser, “I have had an epiphany.” Ray looked puzzled. “Regarding the case,” explained Fraser. Suddenly Ray was listening. Fraser lowered his voice, “perhaps we should discuss this in the kitchen,” he suggested, nodding towards Mrs Vecchio, “the details are somewhat grizzly.”

“Oh yeah,” agreed Ray. “Um, Mrs V, Frannie, have a seat. Watch some TV if ya want to. Sorry, this is work.”

“I understand Ray,” said Mrs Vecchio, “my Raymondo is exactly the same, always so dedicated to solving crimes.” Francesca managed to stop herself making a sarcastic comment about her real brother.

“Ray,” Fraser began, “we are not looking for a left handed golfer at all. The injuries sustained by the victim were indeed caused by a golf club, held by a left handed person, however the club was not held in the typical grip of a golfer, it was held like this.” Fraser picked up a baguette that was left over from Ray's dinner and used it to demonstrate the attack with Ray as the victim. Francesca and Mrs Vecchio watched with some amusement from the sofa as Fraser appeared to beat Ray with the baguette. Fraser noticed them watching and quickly put the bread down. He clicked his neck from one side to the other.

“So who did it?” asked Ray.

“When we went to the Golf Club the other day, we spoke to various members of staff. Did you notice if any of them were left handed?” asked Fraser. He closed his eyes and tried to remember himself. It was only a few days ago, but he'd been so busy with other things that it was proving difficult.

“Yeah!” exclaimed Ray, suddenly. “The guy behind the bar. He, er, he opened the bottles with his left hand.”

“You're right Ray,” Fraser opened his eyes, “I think we have our murderer. Lets go and bring him to justice.”

THE END


End file.
